Dark Sun: Prism Pentad 4 - Obsidian Oracle (34 page)

“Aren't you supposed to be watching the entrance to the tunnel?” the king bristled,
resisting the impulse to leap too quickly to the question foremost in his mind-how to
escape.

“I did what
I
was supposed to,” Sacha snarled. “That's why I'm in here with you.”

“What do you mean?” Tithian asked.

“Somehow Agis freed himself and located the Oracle chamber,” the head explained. “When we
saw him enter the compound, I came down to warn you. All I found was the satchel-with no
sign of you or the lens. Agis showed up a little later and stuffed me in here.”

“Does he know where I am-or the lens?”

“No, he thinks you used magic or the Way to disappear,” replied Sacha.

“Good-then I'll be able to take him by surprise,” snickered the king. “Now, tell me how we
get out of here.”

“When you put Wyan and me in here, there's only one way we ever found,” Sacha replied,
laughing bitterly. ,

Tithian scowled. “And what's that?”

“We wait-until someone takes us out.”

È * * * *

Agis looked up the tunnel and saw the blocky silhouette of a small Joorsh crawling toward
him. Although the figure was not large enough to be an adult, it filled the corridor
completely. The noble could see that, even had the giant been willing to let him pass,
there was no room to squeeze between the lumpy body and the passage's slick walls-much
less to do so without alerting the warrior to his presence.

The Joorsh stopped crawling, and Agis feared that the giant had glimpsed him peeking
around the corner. Although his heart began to pound like a Gulgian war drum, the noble
forced himself to remain motionless. If the Joorsh was not sure of what he had seen, the
last thing Agis wanted to do was draw attention to himself by making a careless move.

To the noble's immense relief, the giant peered back over his shoulder. “I see the Oracle,
Sachem Mag'r!” he called. His voice was that of a boy, but it was so loud that it shook
the narrow tunnel. “A red glow, just like you said! It's real bright!”

“What?” Mag'r's coarse reply thundered down the passage with a deafening rumble. “You see
a
bright
glow, Beort?”

Beort nodded. “Very bright,” he said. His tone was not as enthusiastic as it had been a
moment before.

“Something's wrong!” the king growled.

Before the youth could look down the tunnel in, Agis's direction, the noble backed away
from the corner. He picked up Tithian's satchel and slung it over his uninjured shoulder,
then he crossed the tiny chamber to where the crevice in the ceiling met the far wall. He
paused there to pull his injured arm from its makeshift sling.

The limb was in no shape for a climb. From the elbow down it was grossly swollen and
discolored, with a huge purple lump directly over the break itself. The noble tried to
lift it and discovered that the muscles would not obey his will. The injured arm had
become a dead weight.

A quick glance at the wall's sheer surface confirmed Agis's suspicion that it could not be
climbed with a single functioning arm. The noble closed his eyes and visualized a healthy,
fully functioning limb in its place. He opened his spiritual nexus and felt a surge of
power rise through, his body, then he guided this energy into his injured arm.

A pang of agony shot from the point of the break back through his arm and even into his
chest. Agis concentrated on the image of an oasis pond, keeping his muscles and mind
relaxed, allowing his suffering to flow through him like the wind. The edge quickly faded
from his pain, and soon the anguish tapered to a dull ache.

Agis opened his eyes again and tried to lift his arm. A surge of spiritual energy flowed
into the limb, bringing with it a fresh wave of agony, but his hand slowly rose into the
air. He flexed his fingers, curled them into
a
fist, and opened them again. Then, convinced that his arm would serve in spite of his
injury, he stepped over to the wall. Using thick sheaves of mica for handholds, he climbed.

Agis had not healed his arm, he had merely used the Way to animate it, much as he had
animated the dead bear when they entered the castle. To move the limb he had to summon
energy from deep within himself, then consciously direct it to do what he wished. Each
time he did so it sent a fresh wave of pain rushing through him, but the noble hardly
noticed. He was accustomed to pain. Besides, he felt certain that letting the giant catch
him would result in agony much more severe than what he was suffering now.

Just a short distance from the ceiling, as Beort's knees were scraping along the floor
outside the chamber, the noble heard a soft hiss from one of his handholds. The mica
peeled away from the wall, and Agis felt himself beginning to fall. The satchel slipped
off his shoulder, landing on the floor below. He paid it no attention and thrust his good
arm up into the crevice, his fingers madly grasping for another grip. He found the edge of
another sheet, clutched at it, and pulled.

His fingertips scraped along the surface of the crevice, finding purchase in a.
rough-edged hollow. Agis quickly transferred his weight to this arm and pulled himself up
into the crevice, bracing his back against one wall of the fissure and his feet against
the other.

As soon as he felt secure in his new perch, the noble looked down at the satchel he had
dropped. Although he didn't know what Tithian had stored inside, it seemed too valuable an
item to leave behind. He closed his eyes, preparing to retrieve it with the Way. In the
same moment, a rush of hot breath filled the room, and Beort crawled inside. Agis opened
his eyes again and found himself looking down on a mass of greasy braids, as large as a
kes'trekel's nest and just as tangled. The Joorsh boy's shoulders were so broad that he
had to turn them sideways to fit through the chamber entrance, and his arms were as long
as a normal man was tall.

“There's nothing here!” Beort yelled. His gaze fell on the satchel, and he reached across
the room to grasp it. “What's this?”

The noble began to climb, leaving the sack to the young giant. Although he tried to move
as quietly as possible, he was more concerned with speed. Even if the Joorsh heard him,
Beort would have to turn over on his back before he could thrust one of his long arms up
into the rift. The noble ascended quickly and quietly, pushing his back up the fissure a
short distance, then bringing his feet up. By the time the young giant had pulled Agis's
binding off the satchel and peered inside, the noble was already halfway up the crevice.

Stuffing Tithian's satchel into his belt, Beort craned his neck and peered up into the
crevice. Although safely out the youth's reach, Agis climbed even faster. The youth
squinted in the noble's direction, trying to shield his eyes against the sunlight with a
massive hand. “What's that?” he asked, rolling onto his back “Come down, you!”

His heart pounding from the hard climb and the exhilaration of escape, Agis returned his
attention to his ascent. He had neared the top of the shaft, where the silvery mica
reflected the sun's crimson rays with such intensity that even the air seemed to glow
blood-red. Just a few more moments, he told himself, and I'll be safe.

The ruddy light was suddenly replaced by a shadow. Agis looked up and saw one of Mag'r's
brown, puffy eyes peering down into the rift

“What's wrong, Beort?” he demanded. “Where's the Oracle?”

“Ask the man,” came the reply.

The youth pointed toward the corner of the rift, where Agis had halted his climb, his legs
trembling as much from fear as from the strain of keeping his back pressed against the
wall of the crevice. His broken arm, no longer needed for the climb up the narrow fissure,
hung limply at his side.

The sachem's eye shifted to the noble, then his fleshy lips curled into a fiendish smile.
The giant thrust his pudgy hand into the crack. He pinched Agis between his thumb and
forefinger, plucking the noble from the crevice. Mag'r was a mess, with dried blood caked
around the wound where Nal had gored him. The gash across his huge stomach had been sewn
shut with what looked like sail rope.

When he looked past the giant, Agis saw that they were in the southern end of the
compound, where the mica walls formed a cul-de-sac around the rift from which he had just
been plucked. Although the rift ran east-west, directly beneath the sun's path, the
silvery sheets of mica surrounding it were all angled so that they would reflect any stray
rays down into the cleft.

“Where's the Oracle?” Mag'r demanded, drawing Agis's attention back to his bloated face.

“It's not down there,” the noble replied, keeping his voice, and himself, calm through an
act of will. To escape the giant, he would have to keep a clear head.

“I know where the Oracle is not!” the giant bellowed, his breath a hot, rancid wind. He
closed his fist around the noble's body and squeezed. “I want to know where it is!”

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his broken arm, Agis said, “I didn't get here much
before you, and all I found was an empty satchel.” He gestured toward the cleft below.
“Beort has it now.”

Mag'r scowled, then knelt on the ground. “Give me the sack, Beort.” The sachem thrust his
long arm into the rift, then returned to his feet with the satchel in his hand. He opened
it up and peered inside, then started to toss the satchel away. 'It's empty."

“Empty?” Agis echoed, hoping the young giant had not let Sacha escape. The disembodied
head inside the sack remained Agis's best hope of tracking down Tithian and the lens. “Let
me keep it anyway.”

The giant shrugged, then handed it to Agis. “What good is an empty sack?”

“Not much,” the noble admitted, “but I found it down in the tunnel where the Oracle should
have been. There might be a connection.”

Scowling, Mag'r reached to take the satchel back. “What connection?”

Agis pulled the sack away from the giant's fingers, tucking it under his arm. “I'll tell
you after you take me to the quartz enclosure,” he said.

“Speak now, if you want to live.”

Agis shook his head. “You're going to kill me anyway,” he said. “But Nal has thrown a
giant into the crystal pit who doesn't deserve to die. I'll tell you what I know after you
rescue him. You might even want to make him a member of your tribe-he's dearly an enemy of
the Saram.”

Mag'r scowled and shook his head. “After what you did at the gate, I can't trust you.”

“What happened at the gate was Nal's doing, not mine,” Agis replied. “Besides, an empty
sack and a dead body will do you no good. If you want my help in finding the Oracle,
you'll have to do as I ask.”

The sachem pondered this for a few moments, then reluctantly nodded. “I'll help the giant
out of the pit,” he said, “but I won't take him into my tribe. I see no reason to trust
him just because my enemies did not.”

Limping badly from the lance wound that the noble had inflicted on him earlier, the giant
exited the mica compound, leaving Beort in the Oracle chamber.

As they crossed the barren granite grounds of Castle Feral, Agis was astonished. He had
expected to see lakes of Saram blood and mountains of beasthead bodies, with Joorsh
warriors chasing down and slaughtering their captives.

But Mag'r's victorious army had gathered the defeated giants at the far end of the
citadel, where Nal's body rested atop a huge funeral pyre. While the Saram knelt in a
circle around their dead bawan, the gray-haired Chief Nuta walked back and forth in front
of the burning body, sternly lecturing them on the folly of trying to keep the Oracle for
themselves.

The chief's efforts were hampered by a cloud of Castoffs swirling overhead. They occupied
the attention of the nervous Saram far more raptly than either Nal's body or Nuta's
lecture, despite the two Joorsh shamans dancing in the prisoners' midst to keep the
spirits at bay.

“It looks as though you intend to let the Saram live,” Agis said.

“That's right,” Mag'r replied. “Jo'orsh would be angry if we killed all our
brothers-especially after winning the war.”

“Still, it's very generous of you to forgive them.”

Mag'r fixed a brown eye on the noble. “Don't expect the same mercy,” he warned. “You're no
giant. Jo'orsh doesn't care what happens to you.”

With that, the sachem stepped into the enclosure. The giant-hair rope that Kester had tied
to the footings of Sa'ram's Bridge still ran over to the edge of the pit, but the line now
lay slack and loose. After Agis had been taken from the pit, the crack in the crystal
cover had sealed itself, cutting the cord in the process.

As Mag'r lumbered forward, the noble's heart sank, and he was overcome by a sick feeling
of disappointment. The crystal pit's cover had grown milky and opaque, suggesting that
Tithian had already taken the Dark Lens far from Lybdos.

“I never should have listened to him!” Agis hissed, his anger with himself growing by the
moment. “This is what comes of breaking promises!”

“What promises?” asked Mag'r, frowning.

Agis started to tell the giant of his suspicions, swearing that though he might not
survive to hunt Tithian down himself, Mag'r and his giants would do it for him. Then,
remembering another promise that he had made, he thought better of it and stopped.

“I'll tell you in a minute,” the noble said. “First, you rescue Fylo.”

Mag'r knelt at the edge of the pit and studied the lid for several moments. Finally, he
shrugged and said, “No handle.”

Before Agis could object, the king reached out and smashed his fist through the center of
the cover. It shattered into dozens of fragments that fell into the pit, leaving only a
few jagged bits sticking out from the sides. The noble cringed, trying not to think of
what the falling pieces might do to Fylo.

Mag'r peered down into the hole, then said, “I see him.”

Agis looked over the edge. For a moment all he could see were beads of sweat dripping off
his brow and plummeting into the darkness, then his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of
light and he saw Fylo, still lying impaled on the crystal. The half-breed's free arm and
his legs were dangling down into the pit, while his eyes were closed and his chin lay
slumped onto his chest. Although he had suffered several gashes from falling shards of
crystal, none of the cuts were bleeding very badly.